Lady of the Night: Year Four
by avatargrl11
Summary: Gabrielle returns to Hogwarts for her fourth year, but unfortunately runs into trouble from her past.
1. Chapter 1

**SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG! MY COMPUTER HATES ME AND HAS BEEN GIVING ME TROUBLE! I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR DRACULA! PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

* * *

**LADY OF THE NIGHT: YEAR FOUR:  
**

**CHAPTER ONE:**

* * *

That summer, I awoke to Renfield shaking me awake. "Miss Gabrielle. Time to wake up."

"Five more minutes, Renny..."

"I am sorry, Miss Gabrielle, but it is time to leave to for the Portkey." I yawned, stretching as I made my way to the smaller of the two dining halls, where Dracula was awaiting me. He sipped on a goblet of blood, and arched his left eyebrow. "Took you long enough." I grabbed a piece of toast and followed Renny out the back door. "Oh, please. You know you love spending as much time as you can with me before I head off to school." He took another sip of his goblet, watching me and Renny leave.

* * *

Three hours later, Renny and I arrived at the Portkey, which was an old soda can. Renny glanced around. "It does not appear as though anyone shall be joining us." I nodded, and five minutes later, the Portkey took off.

* * *

Renny landed gently, chuckling as he looked down at me on the ground. "Rough landing, Evangeline?" We had to go back to using my alias now that we were among other people. He walked over to a witch, and spoke to her for a while. After a bit, she assigned us a campsite, and told us who to talk to.

* * *

After we'd finally managed to erect our tent, I asked Renny if I could go looking Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and he consented after fifteen minutes of my pleading with him to let me go.

I finally found them at a salesman's cart, where Harry was buying three pairs of Omnioculars. "Guys! Guys!" I ran over to them, waving excitedly. "Evangeline! Hey!"

"Hey, guys! Uncle Renny and I just got here!" I turned to the salesman. "One pair of Omnioculars and a large Ireland rosette. Thanks."

* * *

A little while later, Renny and I met up again with the Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys in the Top Box. I watched with Harry as the blackboards kept writing on themselves in gold writing and then wiping it off again.

**_The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family-Safe, Reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer..._**

**_Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!..._**

**_Gladrag's Wizardwear-London, Paris, Hogsmeade..._**

Harry looked over his shoulder to see who else was in the Top Box with us, and Ron, Hermione, and I jumped when we heard him exclaim, _"Dobby!?"_

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" Ron, Hermione, Mr. Weasley and I turned around for a look. "Sorry. I thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir! My name is Winky, sir-and you, sir-" Her eyes widened as they came to land on Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter, sir!" Harry nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"But Dobby talks about you all the time, sir!"

"How is he? How's freedom suiting him?" Winky bit her lip, looking slightly disapproving. "Ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free." Harry frowned, confused. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir. Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir." Harry still looked confused. "Why not?" Winky looked around and lowered her voice. _"He is wanting paying for his work, sir."_

Harry blinked at this. "Paying? Well, why shouldn't he be payed?" Winky hid her face in her hands again. "House-elves is not paid, sir! Oh, no, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says to him, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. But he is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you is up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

Harry shrugged. "Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun." Winky looked stunned at his words. "House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter"-Winky looked over at the edge of the Top Box, her fingers shaking-"but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry asked her.

"Master-master-wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He's very busy. Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, sir, but she does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf." Harry looked back over at us, and I arched an eyebrow. "So, that's a house-elf? Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder, trust me."

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them. "Cool! I can make that bloke down there pick his nose again...and again...and again..."

Hermione, on the other hand, was flipping through her World Cup program. "A display from the team mascots will precede the match." Mr. Weasley smiled. "Oh, that's always worth watching. National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

* * *

The Top Box filled up over the next half hour.

Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with obviously important wizards, and Percy kept jumping up so often that he looked like someone trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge showed up, Percy bowed so low that his glasses shattered. Looking extremely embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and stayed in his seat after that, shooting jealous looks at Harry, who the Minister greeted like an old friend. I simply chuckled, knowing that they had met before, and Fudge asked him how he was, then introduced Harry to the Bulgarian Minister, who was right next to him, and apparently couldn't speak a word of English.

"Harry Potter, you know..._Harry Potter_...oh, come, now...you know who he is...the boy who survived You-Know-Who...you _do_ know who he is..."

The Bulgarian Minister suddenly spotted Harry's scar and pointed at it, chattering away excitedly, and Fudge sighed. "Knew we'd get there in the end. I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. I see his house-elf's saving him a seat...Good thing, too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to take _all_ the best places...oh, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I turned around to look just as the Malfoys reached Fudge. "Ah, Fudge. How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge nodded at them in turn. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk-Obalonsk-Mr.-well, he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see...who else...you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

Mr. Malfoy's eyes scanned over Mr. Weasley, and he smirked condescendingly. "Good lord, Arthur. What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who obviously wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How-how nice," Mr. Weasley said with a strained smile.

I smirked at Mr. Malfoy. "Very wise of him, as well. That way, why, there will be _absolutely_ _no doubt_ of him getting top priority care _should he ever need it_, will there?" He narrowed his eyes at me, but said nothing as he continued on to his seat.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as we turned back to the field.

The next minute, Ludo Bagman came charging into the Top Box. "Everyone ready? Minister-ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo."

Bagman whipped out his wand, pointed it at his own throat, and said "_Sonorus!_" and then spoke over the roar of sound filling the packed stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen: welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" Fans began screaming and clapping in approval at this (myself among them). The blackboard wiped itself clean, and now showed:

**BULGARIA: 0**

**IRELAND: 0**

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them on his robes. "Veela!" Renny also looked eager to see the veela come onto the field, while I just rolled my eyes.

Then the veela started dancing, and Ron and Harry were acting like complete idiots. Harry had one of his legs resting on the wall of the box, and Ron looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

Angry yells had begun to fill the stadium. The onlookers didn't want the veela to leave. Ron had begun to shred the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling, reached over and plucked it out of his hands. "You'll be wanting that once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" Ron said, staring at the veela, who were lined up on one side of the field. Hermione made a loud scathing noise as she pulled Harry back into his seat. "Honestly!"

"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice came booming across the field, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!" The next second, what looked like a giant green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did a full circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light.

We all ooohhed and aahhed, as if watching a fireworks display. Suddenly, the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Golden rain began falling from it-

"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. "There you go! For the Omnioculars!" Ron yelled happily, shoving a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand. "Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present!"

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome-the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you-Dimitrov!"

One of the Bulgarian players zoomed out onto the field.

"Ivanova!"

Another player followed Dimitrov.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaannd-Krum!" The stadium exploded with cheers.

"That's him, that's him!" Ron began following Krum with his Omnioculars.

"And now, please greet-the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yelled. "Presenting-Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand-Lynch!"

I focused my Omnioculars so I could see the Irish team flying out. 'Firebolt' was written on the side of each of their brooms, and their names were embroidered in silver on their backs. "And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

After the referee had released the balls, he blew his whistle and took off into the air. "They're off! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!" The stadium roared as the players zoomed around the field.

"TROY SCORES! Ten-zero to Ireland!" Harry looked up from his Omnioculars, obviously confused. "What? But-but Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" I yelled, while Hermione danced around in her seat as Troy did a lap of honor around the field.

Within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice again, bringing their lead up to thirty-zero. The match became faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley yelled as the veela began dancing in celebration. After a little while, though, they stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was once again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova-oh, I say!" Bagman roared.

The two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked like they'd jumped from airplanes without any parachutes. "They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed.

At the very last second, Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, on the other hand, hit the ground with a dull thud that echoed throughout the entire stadium. "Fool!" Mr. Weasley moaned. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice shouted, "as trained mediwizards hurry out onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

Lynch finally got to his feet, to loud cheers from the Ireland supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air.

After fifteen more minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot towards the goalposts again, the Quaffle clutched tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf flew out to meet her.

I couldn't see what had happened, but the screams of rage from the Irish crowd and Mostafa's whistle blast told me that a foul had occurred. "And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing-excessive use of elbows! And-yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words _**"**__**HA, HA, HA!"**_

The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and began to dance again. Immediately, the Weasley boys and Harry crammed their fingers in their ears, but Hermione and I tugged on Harry's arm. "Look at the referee!" Hermione was trying hard not to laugh as I pointed down at the field.

Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache. "Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman chuckled. "Somebody slap the referee!" A mediwizard came running across the field and kicked Mostafa in the shins. He shook his head and seemed to come around; as I watched through the Omnioculars, I saw that he was now yelling at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were now glaring daggers at him.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots! Now, there's something we haven't seen before...oh, this could get nasty..."

The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed in front of Mostafa and began arguing with him. When it looked as though they refused to get flying again, Mostafa gave another blast on his whistle. "Two penalties for Ireland! And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms...yes, there they go...and Troy takes the Quaffle..." Play reached a level of ferocity that I'd never seen before. The Beaters on both teams were playing without mercy; Volkov and Vulchanov looked like they didn't care whether their clubs made contact with human or Bludger. Dimitrov flew at Moran, who had the Quaffle, almost knocking her off of her broom.

_"Foul!"_ the Irish fans yelled, standing up in a great wave.

"Foul!" Bagman shouted, echoing them. "Dimitrov skins Moran-deliberately flying to collide there-and it's got to be another penalty-yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time formed a giant hand, which made a rude sign at the veela across the field. At this, the veela completely lost it. Instead of their dancing, they threw themselves across the field and began throwing what looked like handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Their faces had changed into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.

"And that, boys," Mr. Weasley yelled over the crowd, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were running out onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but it didn't look like they were having much success.

"Levski-Dimitrov-Moran-Troy-Mullet-Ivanova-Moran again-Moran-MORAN SCORES!"

Quigley, one of the Irish Beaters, swung at a passing Bludger, hitting it as hard as possible toward Krum, who didn't duck quickly enough, and it hit him full in the face. Krum's nose was broken, and there was blood everywhere, but Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. I couldn't blame him, though; one of the veela had just thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail on fire.

Ron groaned. "Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that!"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry suddenly yelled. The Irish Seeker had once again gone into a dive, and this didn't look like a Wronski Feint, this was the real thing..."He's seen the Snitch!" Harry yelled. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

The Irish supporters rose in a wave of green, screaming Lynch on...but Krum was right on his tail. "They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed.

"No, they're not!" Ron yelled.

"Lynch is!" I screamed. For the second time, Lynch hit the ground with a thud and was immediately trampled by a mass of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie yelled, a few seats down. "He's got it-Krum's got it-it's all over!" Harry shouted back. Krum was rising into the air, the Snitch clutched in his fist. The scoreboard was flashing

**BULGARIA: 160**

**IRELAND: 170**

across the crowd, who hadn't yet grasped what had happened. Then, like a giant airplane was revving up, the rumbling from the Irish fans erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH-BUT IRELAND WINS-good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?!" I yelled, hugging Hermione. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead!" Harry grinned at me. "He knew they were never going to catch up! The Irish Chasers were too good...he wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said. "He looks a terrible mess..."

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a voice behind us. We turned around to see the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. "You can speak English!" Fudge sputtered angrily. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," the Bulgarian Minister said, shrugging. I crammed my fist into my mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman yelled. My eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Peering at the entrance, I could see two panting wizards carrying a giant golden cup into the box, which they handed to Fudge.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers-Bulgaria!" Bagman yelled. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each player as they shook hands with their own Minister and then with Fudge.

Then came the Irish team. Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; it looked like the second crash had dazed him slightly and his eyes seemed a little out of focus. But he grinned as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd applauded loudly.

Finally, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Lynch was riding on the back of Connolly's), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and said _"Quietus."_

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he muttered hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that...shame it couldn't have lasted longer...Ah, yes...yes, I owe you...how much?"

Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Bagman with broad grins on their faces, hands outstretched.


	2. Chapter 2

**I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR DRACULA! PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

* * *

**LADY OF THE NIGHT: YEAR FOUR:  
**

**CHAPTER TWO:**

* * *

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley begged Fred and George as we made our way downstairs. "Don't worry, Dad. We've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Renny and I bid farewell to the others at the bottom of the stairs, and headed back to our campsite.

* * *

A few hours later, Renny was frantically shaking me awake. "What's the matter?"

"Get up! Miss Gabrielle-I mean-Evangeline-get up!" I threw my cloak over my shoulders, following Renny outside. "What's wrong?" As we ran outside, Renny and I could see wizards and witches fleeing into the woods, running from something that was setting off large flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Jeers of laughter and drunken yells were drifting towards us; then came a burst of powerful green light, which lit up the campsite. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with their wands pointing straight upward, was marching right at us across the field. Renny took my Omnioculars from and peered through them. Evidently he didn't like at all what he saw, because his face immediately went pale.

Renny turned to me and took me by the shoulders. "Now, you listen to me, understood? Find your friends...those Weasleys...the Potter boy...and the Granger girl...and _stay with them_. I am going back to the manor to explain to the Master what is happening." I nodded. "Okay."

As Renny ran off into the woods, I headed off in another direction, hoping I'd be able to find the Weasleys all right.

* * *

After about a few minutes, I spotted them. "Guys! Guys!"

They looked up from where they were watching four Muggles struggling hard to be released from midair. "That's sick," Ron muttered to himself. "That's really sick," Hermione and Ginny came hurrying out of their girl's tent, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy came out of the boy's tent, fully dressed, sleeves rolled, wands out. "We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over the din, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot-grab Fred and George, get into the woods and _stick together_! I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already running away towards the oncoming marchers, and Mr. Weasley ran after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction towards the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Muggles was getting ever larger.

"C'mon," Fred said, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her towards the woods. We all followed, looking back as we reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Muggles was larger than ever; we could see Ministry wizards pushing their way through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they appeared to be having extremely great difficulty.

The lanterns that lit the path to the stadium had been put out, because I could see others stumbling through the trees; people were crying; shouts and panicky voices could be heard around us in the cold air. Suddenly, I heard Ron yell out in pain. "What happened? Oh, this is stupid-_Lumos_!" Hermione illuminated her wand and pointed it down at Ron. "Tripped over a tree root," Ron said as I helped him to his feet again.

"Well, with feet _that_ size, it's rather hard not to, isn't it, Weasley?" came a drawling voice from behind us. We looked around to see Draco Malfoy standing behind us, looking amused. Ron told Draco something I knew he'd never dare say in front of his mother. "Language, Weasley," Draco said. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?" Draco jerked his thumb at Hermione, and at the same moment, a sound like a bomb going off sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light lit the trees momentarily around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione said stubbornly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles. D'you _really_ want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, stick around...it'd give us all a laugh."

* * *

**3RD PERSON**

Dracula slammed his fist down onto the desk in front of him, uprighting quite a few papers. "You left her there _alone!?_"

"M-Master, I-I-" Dracula held up his hand, his eyes flashing gold. "Silence. I will deal with you later." With that, he turned and whipped out of the door of his study.

* * *

**GABRIELLE**

"Hermione's a witch," Harry said.

"Have it your way, Potter. If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" Ron shouted at Malfoy. "Never mind, Ron," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him back. A bang was issued from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything we'd ever heard. Several people nearby screamed, and I couldn't help feel worried about Renny and Dracula.

Malfoy laughed quietly. "Scare easily, don't they? I suppose your daddy told you all to hide, Weasley? What's he up to-trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where are your parents, Malfoy? Out there wearing masks, are they?" Malfoy turned to look at me, but then his face went oddly slack, and he yelled out, "Did you know my father is about to become the next Minister of Magic?"

"Oh, _please_," I scoffed, turning away. As I did, Malfoy seemed to snap out of his trance. "Keep that big bushy head down, Granger."

"Come on," Hermione said, and pulled Harry and Ron after me up the path. "I'll bet you anything his dad is one of those masked lot!" Ron said.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" Hermione said. "Oh, I can't _believe_ this! Where have the others got to?" A group of teenage girls were arguing someway along the path. When they saw us, one of the girls came towards us and spoke quickly in French.

"Er-what?" Ron asked.

"Oh...'Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," Hermione muttered.

"Sorry?" Harry asked.

"They must go to Beauxbatons. You know...Beauxbatons Academy of Magic...I read about it in_ An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_."

"Oh...yeah...right..." Harry said.

"Hermione, why are you such a nerd?" Ron asked.

"I am not a nerd!"

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," I said, desperate to change the subject from French wizards. Suddenly, Harry changed the subject for me. "I don't believe it! I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding!" Ron, Hermione and I cast our wands high enough so as to be able to further on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but couldn't find his wand anywhere. "Maybe it's back in the tent." Ron said. "Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione said, chewing on her lower lip. "Yeah...maybe..." Harry said quietly.

A rustling noise nearby made us all jump. Winky was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. "There is bad wizards about! People high-high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"

Ron frowned, looking after her. "What's up with her? Why can't she run properly?" Harry sighed. "Bet she didn't ask permission to hide." Hermione shook her head and crossed her arms. "You know, house-elves get a very raw deal! It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it!?"

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard Winky back at the match...'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'...that's what she likes, being bossed around..."

"It's people like you, Ron, who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to-" Another loud BANG echoed from the edge of the trees. "Let's just keep going, shall we?" I said, looking over at Hermione.

* * *

Pretty soon, we had made our way into the heart of the trees. We seemed to be alone now, everything was much quieter. Harry glanced around us. "I reckon we can just wait here. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off." As soon as he said this, Ludo Bagman came out of the trees behind us. "Who's that? What are you doing in here, all alone?" We blinked up at him, rather surprised. "Well-there's a sort of riot going on," I said.

"What?" Bagman said.

"At the campsite...some people have got hold of a family of Muggles..." Ron said. Bagman swore under his breath. "Damn them!" With that, he Disapparated. "Not exactly on top of things, is he, Mr. Bagman?" said Hermione. "He was a great Beater, though," Ron said, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and motioning for us all to sit down on a patch of dry grass. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them." He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around.

"I hope the others are okay," I said.

"They'll be fine," said Ron. "Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, plopping himself down next to Ron. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."

"That'd wipe the smirk off of old Malfoy's face, all right," Ron said. "Those poor Muggles, though," said Hermione nervously."What if they can't get them down?"

"They will. They'll find a way," Ron said. "It's mad, though, isn't it, to do something like that with the whole Ministry of Magic out here tonight!" Hermione said. "I mean, how on Earth do they expect to get away with it? D'you think they've been drinking, or are they just-"

"Hello?" Harry called out.

"Who's there?" I asked.

Suddenly, someone yelled out something that didn't sound like a panicked shout, but more like a spell. "_MORSMORDRE_!" All of a sudden, the trees around us erupted with screams. I couldn't quite understand why, but the only possible explanation was the appearance of the green skull, which had now risen high enough to light up the trees like some grisly neon sign. "Who's there?" I called out again.

"Evangeline, come on!"

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"It's the Dark Mark, Evangeline! You-Know-Who's sign!" Harry stared at her. _"Voldemort's-"_

"Harry, come on!" I looked up-Ron had scooped up his miniature Krum-the four of us started to make our way across the clearing-but before we'd taken only two steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of at least twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding us. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice yelling at us. "GET DOWN, YOU FOUR!" Immediately, I felt myself, Harry, Ron, and Hermione being knocked over.

"_STUPEFY_!" yelled twenty voices-there was a blinding series of flashes and I felt the hair on my head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept through the clearing. Raising my head just a fraction of an inch, I saw jets of fiery red light flying over us from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off of tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness-

"STOP! STOP! THAT'S MY SON!" My hair stopped blowing about, and I raised my head a little higher. The wizard in front of us had lowered his wand. I rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding towards us, looking terrified. "Ron-Harry-Hermione-Evangeline-are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," a curt voice said. It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage. "Which of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?" Dracula stood up, his eyes glittering gold. "Are you suggesting that these children conjured the Dark Mark?" Mr. Crouch looked over at Dracula, and his face went pale. "You!"

Dracula smirked. "Me." He walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder, and pulled me closer to him. Behind me, I could hear Hermione stifle a gasp. Dracula gave a low chuckle. "Don't worry, miss. I am not here to harm any of you, never fear."

"We didn't do that!" Harry said, motioning up at the Dark Mark.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron exclaimed, rubbing his elbow and glaring at his father. "What did you want to attack us for!?"

"Do not lie, sir! You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," a witch in a long woolen dressing gown whispered, "they're kid's, Barty, they'd never have been able to-"

"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" Mr. Weasley asked us. "Over there," Hermione said shakily, pointing over into the trees where we'd heard the voice come from. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words-an incantation-"

"Oh, stood over there, did they? Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy..."

"We're too late," said the witch, "they'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said Mr. Diggory. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...There's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" warned a few of the wizards as Mr. Diggory made his way into the trees beyond. A few seconds later, we heard Mr. Diggory shout out. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's-but-blimey-"

"You've got someone?" Mr. Crouch asked. "Who? Who is it?" We heard snapping twigs, rustling leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory came back from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. It was Winky. Mr. Crouch didn't move as Mr. Diggory put Winky down on the ground at his feet. Everybody else was staring at Mr. Crouch.

"This-cannot-be-No-" He strode off into the trees. "No point, Barty," Mr. Diggory called out. "There's nobody else there." But Mr. Crouch didn't seem ready to take his word for it. We could hear him moving around in the trees, searching. "Bit embarrassing, really," Mr. Diggory said, looking down at Winky. "Barty Crouch's house-elf...I mean to say..."

"Oh, come off it, Amos," Mr. Weasley scoffed. "You don't honestly believe it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah, and she had a wand."

"What?!" Dracula exclaimed in disbelief. Mr. Diggory nodded. "Had it right here in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to use or carry a wand_." Dracula glared at him, and I laid a hand on his arm warningly. Just then there was another_ pop, _and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. He spun on the spot, staring up at the Dark Mark. "The Dark Mark! Who did it!? Did you get them!? Dracula?! What's HE doing here!? Barty! What's going on!?"

Mr. Crouch had come back empty-handed. His face was still white, and his hands and mustache were both twitching. "Where have you been, Barty?" Mr. Bagman asked. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too-gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky. "What happened to her!?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr. Crouch said. "And my elf has been Stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot? But why-?" Understanding suddenly dawned on Bagman's face. "No! Winky! Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand for a start!"

"And she had one," said Mr. Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself." Mr. Diggory raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, _"Rennervate!" _

Winky yawned, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. "Elf!" Mr. Diggory said harshly. "Do you know who I am? I am a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures! As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago. And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I-I-I-I is not doing it, sir! I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr. Diggory barked at her, polishing the wand at her. Harry blinked. "Hey! That's mine!"

"Your's?"

"Yeah. I dropped it."

"You dropped it? Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" Mr. Weasley said very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark!?"

"Er-of course not-Sorry-carried away..." Mr. Diggory muttered. "I didn't drop it there, anyway," Harry said, jerking his thumb backwards into the wood. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up, and you thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir! I is...I is...I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir! I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" Hermione said, biting her lip, but looking determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked over at me, Ron, and Harry for support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "It had a human voice."

"Yeah, it definitely didn't sound like an elf," Ron said."

"Well", we'll soon see," Mr. Diggory growled. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?" Winky shook her head as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's. _"Prior Incantato!"_ Mr. Diggory yelled. We heard Hermione gasp as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met. _"Deletrius!"_ Mr. Diggory yelled, and the skull vanished. "So," said Mr. Diggory, looking down at Winky.

"I is not doing it! I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

_"You've been caught red-handed, elf!"_ yelled Mr. Diggory, glaring down at her. _"Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"_

"Amos," Mr. Weasley said loudly, "think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Mr. Crouch said coldly, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?" A rather awkward silence followed for a few moments afterwards, then Mr. Diggory spoke. "Mr. Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are _least_ likely to conjure that Mark!" Mr. Crouch said. "Harry Potter-and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course-everybody knows-"

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?" Mr. Crouch yelled. "Mr. Crouch, I-I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Mr. Diggory muttered, reddening behind his beard. "If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory! Where else would she have learned to conjure it!?"

"She-she might've picked it up anywhere-"

"Exactly, Amos," said Mr. Weasley. "_She might've picked it up anywhere._..Winky?" Mr. Weasley said, turning to her, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where did you find Harry's wand?" Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. "I-I is finding it there in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" said Mr. Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd have done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own, which would have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!" Mr. Diggory said. "Elf! Did you see anyone?" Winky began to shake worse than ever. Her eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, onto Mr. Bagman, then onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped, shook her head, and said, "I-I-I is seeing no one, sir..."

"Amos," said Mr. Crouch curtly, "I'm fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to let me deal with her." Mr. Diggory looked like he didn't think much of this suggestion, but it was clear that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that Mr. Diggory didn't dare refuse him. "You may rest assured that she will be punished."

"M-master..." Winky gulped, looking up at Mr. Crouch, tears streaming down her face. "M-master, p-please..."

Mr. Crouch stared pityingly back down at her. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible. I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she has disobeyed me. _This means clothes_."

"No!" Winky screamed, throwing herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "Not clothes, master! Not clothes, not clothes!" It was actually rather pitiful, watching Winky clutching desperately at her tea towel as she sobbed at her master's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione said angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

"I have no use for a house-elf that disobeys me. I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation." Dracula laid a hand on my shoulder, steering me out of the clearing. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR DRACULA! PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

* * *

**LADY OF THE NIGHT: YEAR FOUR:  
**

**CHAPTER THREE:**

* * *

Dracula woke me after only a few hours of sleep, and packed up the tents rather quickly. We passed Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage, and he had a strange, dazed look around him, and gave us a vague "Merry Christmas."

"He will be fine," Dracula said softly to me. "Sometimes, when a person's memory is modified, it can make them rather disorientated for a while...and that was a rather large thing they had to make him forget." We heard urgent voices as we approached the area where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a large number of witches and wizards all hurrying to get away from the campsite as well. We joined the queue, and were able to take a Portkey back to Dracula's manor before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Transylvania to the manor, talking very little because we were so exhausted.

As we turned the corner of the lane to the manor, a relieved scream rang out. "Oh, thank Merlin, you are alive!" Renny, who was holding a rolled-up _Daily Prophet_ in his hand, came running toward us. "I have been so worried...so worried..." Dracula simply stared coldly at him, and Renny suddenly shrunk down again. "M-Master..."

"I told you to keep an eye on her, and I learn that you have disobeyed me."

"M-Master, I-I-"

"Silence!" The _Daily Prophet_ fell out of Renny's hand onto the ground, and I picked it up. _SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, _was written in big letters on the front page. "Count, look at this." Dracula took the _Daily Prophet _out of my hands, and began reading it. As he began reading, his scowl deepened. "Let me see.._Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace..._who wrote this? Of course...Rita Skeeter."

"That woman has it in for vampires!" Renny said angrily. "Just last week she was saying the Ministry was wasting their time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when they should be stamping out vampires! As if it was not specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans-"

"Do us all a huge favor, Renny," I yawned, "and shut up. You're boring us." Renny rubbed the back of his neck, looking rather embarrassed. Noticing that Dracula was glaring at him again, I changed the subject quickly. "Um, Renny, did you get my stuff from Diagon Alley while I was at the World Cup?"

"Oh! Oh, yes, it is all packed upstairs, my lady."

I nodded, and headed upstairs. Apart from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_, by Miranda Goshawk, I had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for my potion-making kit-I'd been running low on essence of belladonna and porcupine quills. I was just piling socks into my cauldron when I saw a long, beautiful white dress with a light blue overrobe. "Um...Dracula?" Dracula and Renny came into my room. "Yes?"

"What's this?" I asked, showing them the dress. "That is your dress robes for this year."

"My what?!"

"Your dress robes. It states on your school list that you are to have dress robes this year, so I had Renfield get you some from Diagon Alley. Robes for formal occasions." I stared at it in disbelief. Dracula crossed his arms at me. "Everyone wears them, Gabrielle! They are all like that! I have some like that for smart parties!"

"Fine! I'll wear the stupid thing!"

"Good. I thought it would bring out the color of your eyes."

* * *

The next morning, Dracula bid me farewell before Renny took me to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. "I may be seeing you sooner than you think," Dracula said as he kissed my hand. "Why?" I asked him curiously. "You will see," Dracula said.

"Why?"

"You are going to have an interesting year," Dracula chuckled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I may even come and watch a bit of it..."

"A bit of what?!" I asked. "Dracula, what d'you two know that I don't?!" Dracula smirked. "Oh, you will find out this evening, I expect. It is going to be very exciting...mind you, I am relieved that they have changed the rules..."

"_What_ rules!?" I said curiously, but Renny only shook his head as he took me to King's Cross. "I am sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you..."

"Tell me what?!" I asked. "What rules are they changing!?" Renny only smiled and shook his head as he waved goodbye. Before the train had turned the corner, he had Disapparated.

* * *

I went back to my department, where I found Ron, Hermione, and Harry already waiting. "Bagman wants to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," Ron said grumpily, plonking himself down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what-"

"Shh!" Hermione said quickly, pointing at the door, and a familiar voice came through it. "Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore-the man's _such_ a Mudblood-lover-and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do..."

Hermione got up, tiptoed over to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. "So he thinks Durmstrang would've suited him, does he? I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry asked her. "Yes," Hermione replied angrily, "and it's got a terrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," Ron said. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

"Er-why not?" I asked.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons-" I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "-like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," Hermione said.

"Come off it," Ron said, laughing. "Durmstrang has to be about the same size as Hogwarts...how on Earth are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts is hidden." Hermione said, staring at Ron in surprise. "Everyone knows that...well, everyone who's read _Hogwarts: A History_, anyway."

"Just you, then," said Ron. "So go on-how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"It's bewitched," said Hermione. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."

I frowned. "So Durmstrang will just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"

"Maybe," Hermione said, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable-" Harry stared at her. "Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er...if you say so..."

"But I _think_ Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident...shame his mother likes him..."

Many of our friends looked in on us as the train wore on, including Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom. Neville listened jealously to our Quidditch conversations as we relived the match. "Gran didn't want to go. Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounds amazing, though."

Ron nodded. "It was. Look at this, Neville..." He tipped his miniature Krum onto Neville's hand, and Neville stared in awe at it. "Oh, wow..."

Ron nodded. "We saw him right up close as well. We were in the Top Box-"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley," a voice came from behind us. Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Apparently, he, Crabbe, and Goyle had heard our conversation through the doorway, which Dean and Seamus had left open. "I don't recall asking you to join us, Malfoy," Harry said coolly. "Weasley, what is that!?" Malfoy said, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff extremely obvious. Ron made to hide the cuffs out of sight, but Malfoy was too swift for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled. "Look at this!" Malfoy chortled, holding up Ron's dress robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you!? I mean-they were fashionable in about, oh, 1890-"

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron growled, the same color as his dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grasp. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter, and Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly. "So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know...you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."

"What are you talking about?!" Ron growled.

_"Are you going to enter?"_ Malfoy repeated. "I suppose _you_ will, Potter? You_ never_ miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're talking about or go away, Malfoy," Hermione said testily over the top of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_. A smirk spread across Malfoy's pale face. "Don't tell me you don't know? You've got a father and a brother in the Ministry, and you don't even know?! My God, _my_ father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..." Laughing once again, Malfoy motioned to Crabbe and Goyle and the three of them left. Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she took out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well...making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled, "'_Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry'._...Dad could've got a promotion anytime...he just likes it where he is..."

"Of course he does," I said. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron-"

"Him! Get to me!? As if!" Ron scoffed, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp. Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of our journey. He didn't talk much as we changed into our school robes, and was still scowling when the Hogwarts Express slowed at last and finally stopped in the pitch-black of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione wrapped up Crookshanks in her cloak; I put Midnight in her cage; and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, our heads bowed and eyes narrowed against the rain, which was now coming down so fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied down on us. "Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, waving at a giant person at the other end of the platform. "All righ', Harry?" Hagrid yelled back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!" First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

Hermione shivered. "Ooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather." I nodded. "Me neither." A hundred horseless carriages waited for us older students outside the station. We climbed gratefully into one of them with Neville, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, the long procession of carriages began up towards the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR DRACULA! PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

* * *

**LADY OF THE NIGHT: YEAR FOUR:  
**

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

* * *

Leaning against the window, I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the large oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already running up the steps to the castle.

We jumped down from our carriage and ran up the steps too, glancing up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase. "Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water flying everywhere, "if that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak-ARRGH!" A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and burst at his feet. Soaking and coughing, he walked sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb fell, narrowly missing me and Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, splashing into his sneakers. Students all around us shrieked, pushing and shoving to get out of the line of fire. We looked up, and saw, grinning twenty feet above us, Peeves the Poltergeist.

"PEEVES!" A voice yelled out angrily. "Peeves, come down here AT ONCE!" Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House, had come running out of the Great Hall; however, she skidded on the wet floor and attempted to seize Hermione around the neck to prevent herself from falling. "Ouch-sorry, Miss Granger-"

"That's okay, Professor!" Hermione gasped, rubbing her throat. "Peeves, get down here NOW!" yelled Professor McGonagall, straightening her hat and glaring upwards through her glasses. "Not doing nothing!" yelled Peeves, lobbing a water-bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeee!" With that, he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived. "I shall call the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves-"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, chucked the final of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the staircase. "Well, move along, then!" Professor McGonagall said sharply to all of us. "Into the Great Hall, come along!" We slipped and slid along the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath.

It was much warmer in here. We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaw, and the Hufflepuffs, sitting ourselves down at the Gryffindor table, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. "Good evening," Nick said, smiling at us.

"Says who?" Harry asked, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving." The Sorting of the new students took place at the start of every school year, but Harry hadn't been present at a single one since his own. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called from down the table. "Hiya, Harry!" It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was something of an idol. "Hi, Colin," said Harry cautiously. "Harry, guess what!? Guess what, Harry?! My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er-great." Harry said awkwardly. "He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Um...yeah, okay." Harry said. He turned back to us. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he asked. He was obviously judging by the Weasleys, all of whom had been put in Gryffindor. Hermione shook her head. "Oh, no, not necessarily. Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. I mean, you'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

I glanced up at the staff table. It looked like there were more empty seats than usual. Hagrid was fighting his way across the lake with the first-years, of course; McGonagall was presumably overseeing the drying of the entrance hall; but there was another empty chair too, and I couldn't possibly think who it belonged to. "Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" asked Hermione, who was also looking up at the staff table. We'd never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who'd resigned last year. I glanced up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there. "Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione said, biting her lip.

"Oh, hurry up." Ron muttered. "I could eat a hippogriff!" The words were no sooner out of Ron's mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long procession of first-years up to the top of the Hall. If _we_ were wet, it was _nothing_ compared as to how these first-years looked. I mean, they looked as though they had swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they made they way along the staff table and came to a stop in a line facing the rest of the school-all of them except the smallest of the first-years, a boy with mousy hair, who was draped in what I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat seemed so large on him that it seemed as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent.

His tiny face stuck out from over the collar, looking extremely excited. When he'd lined up with the rest of his terrified-looking first-years, he caught Colin's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, _I fell in the lake!_ He looked absolutely delighted about it. Professor McGonagall put a four-legged stool on the ground in front of the first-years, and, on top of it, she placed the Sorting Hat. The first-years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a few moments, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the Hat broke into song:

_A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn, _

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known,_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own House, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favorites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry said, clapping along with the rest of us. I shrugged. "Well, it sings a different one every year. It's got to be a pretty boring life, doesn't it, be a hat? I suppose it spends all year coming up with the next one." Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment. "When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool," she told the first-years. "When the Hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. Ackerley, Stewart!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!" Miniature Dennis Creevey tripped forward, just as Hagrid himself made his way into the Hall through a door behind the teacher's table. He waved at us, and watched Dennis Creevey put the Hat on. The rip at the brim opened wide, and-

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted. Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis, grinning widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and bounced over to join his brother. "Colin! Colin, I fell in! It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back into the boat!"

"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "You know what? It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Awesome!" Dennis said, as though nobody could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and tossed out of it again by a giant sea monster. "Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there?! The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis!?" I chuckled as Harry looked away, pretending to be very interested in the Sorting.

"Oh, hurry up," moaned Ron, rubbing his stomach.

"Now, Ronald, the Sorting is much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.

"Of course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron. Nick ignored him. "I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?" Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Sorting had ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and carried it away.

"About time," groaned Ron, grabbing his fork and knife and looking expectantly down at his plate. Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at us, his arms thrown wide in welcome. "I've only two words to say to you," he told us. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" Harry and Ron said loudly as the empty dishes filled magically with food before our eyes. "Aaah, 'at's be'er," Ron said, with his mouth full of mashed potato. "You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nick said. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a large amount of steak. "Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast-well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, completely uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council-the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance-but most wisely in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

Everybody knew that the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost, was the only one at Hogwarts who could control Peeves. "Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something. So, what did he do in the kitchens?" Ron asked.

"Oh, the usual," said Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Absolutely terrified the house-elves out of their wits-"

_Clang._ Hermione had suddenly knocked over her goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention. "There are house-elves here!? Here at Hogwarts!?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, blinking in surprise at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!"

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning...see to the fires and so on...I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?" Hermione stared at him. "But they get _paid_?" she said. "They get _holidays_, don't they? And-and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?" Nearly Headless Nick laughed at this so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that attached it to his neck. "Sick leave and pensions!? House-elves don't wan't sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione stared down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down and shoved it away from her. "Oh, c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding, "Oops-sorry, 'Arry-" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor." And she didn't eat another bite. The rain was still pounding heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, lighting up the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, immediately, with puddings. "Treacle tart," said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he fell silent. When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got up once again. "So! Now that we are all fed and watered,"

"Hmph!" said Hermione.

"I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some 437 items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anyone would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched, and he continued. "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third-year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?!" Harry gasped. Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teacher's time and energy-but I'm sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

But at that moment, there was a large rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning on a staff, draped in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Hall threw itself towards the stranger, brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of weathered, dark gray hair, then began to walk up to the staff table. A dull _clunk_ echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling, and Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any other I'd seen. It looked as though it'd been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye-and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all we could see was whiteness. The stranger reached Dumbledore, and he stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words I couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and motioned for the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his dark gray mane out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody." It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everybody else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody!? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in an awed voice.

"What happened to him?" whispered Hermione. "What happened to his face?!"

"Dunno," I whispered back, shrugging. Moody seemed completely indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Completely ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said, smiling at us, all of whom who were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" shouted Fred loudly. The tension that had filled the Great Hall ever since Mad-Eye Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everybody laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley, although I _did_ hear a rather particular excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar-" Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Er...but maybe this is not the time, no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah, yes...the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those that do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities-until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll!?" Hermione whispered, looking shocked. But her alarm was not shared by the rest of us, however. We were way more interested in hearing about the tournament than worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years of ago. "There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" hissed Fred down the table, his face lit up at the prospect of such glory and riches. Apparently, he wasn't the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, I could see people either gazing at Dumbledore or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke once again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age-that is to say, seventeen years or older-will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This-" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, because many students had made sounds of outrage at this, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking angry-"is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely the students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I'll personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

His eyes sparkled with amusement as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore implore you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of the year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop-chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall. "They can't do that!" George shouted, who hadn't joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?!"

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred, also scowling at the head table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "A thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," Hermione said, "We'll be the only ones left here if you don't move." We set off for the entrance hall, the twins discussing the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. "Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry asked. "Dunno," Fred said, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple drops of Aging Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron. "Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" asked Fred. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" Hermione said in a concerned voice as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another staircase. "Yeah," said Fred unconcernedly, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" I asked the others. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I suppose they might want somebody older...Dunno if we've learned enough..."

"I definitely haven't," said Neville's voice from behind us. "I expect my gran would want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to...oops..." Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. Harry and Ron grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily. "Shut it, you," Ron said, banging down its visor as we passed. We made our way up to Gryffindor Tower, which was hidden behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she asked as we approached. "Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me." The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which we all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione sent the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and I clearly heard her mutter '_Slave labor_' before she stalked off upstairs to the girls' dormitory. I bid the boys good night, then followed Hermione upstairs. "So, what do you think?" I asked her as I slipped into my nightgown. "About what?"

"The tournament! Are you going to enter?!"

"Oh..." Hermione bit her lip. "I don't think so..."

"What?! Why not!?" She looked up at me in exasperation. "Evangeline, people have _died_!"

"Yeah, but like Fred said, that was years ago. It'd be nice to give it a go, wouldn't it?" Then I stopped short, thinking about how Dracula might react...he would be furious if he knew I'd entered. He'd probably be as enraged as he had been that night when that werewolf had almost attacked me. I smiled up at her. "Yeah, you're probably right. Best not to risk our lives just for a spot of glory and some gold, huh?" Hermione blinked at me. "What made you change directions so fast?"

"I can change my mind, can't I? Now, come on, let's get some sleep, I want to talk to Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow..."


	5. Chapter 5

**I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR DRACULA! PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

* * *

**LADY OF THE NIGHT: YEAR FOUR:  
**

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

* * *

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as we examined our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, the twins and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad...outside all morning," I said, running my finger down my schedule. Ron nodded. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures...damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," groaned Harry, looking down. "You should've given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione smugly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible, like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I noticed," Ron said, watching her add copious amounts of jam to her toast too. "I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," Hermione said haughtily. "Yeah...and you were hungry," said Ron, smirking.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. I saw Harry look up, but there was no sign of Hedwig among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville and dropped a parcel in his lap-Neville almost always neglected to pack something. On the other side of the Hall, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. I noticed Harry sigh, and return to his porridge. I was quickly distracted, however, by an owl that had arrived with a package for me from Dracula.

Hermione urged me to open it, but quickly wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw what was inside. Inside was a pair of earrings in the shape of blooddrops. "Evangeline, that's in really bad taste!" I shrugged as I inserted them into my ears. "I don't know. I kind of like them."

"They're disgusting! Take them out immediately!" I shook my head. "No. Besides, _he_ gave these to me." Her eyes widened when I said this.

* * *

On our way down to Herbology, Hermione tried to talk me into telling her more about my past with Dracula. "I told you, Hermione, I can't tell you." She wouldn't speak to me all through the Herbology lesson, in which Professor Sprout had us squeezing Bubotubers for their pus. "This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," Professor Sprout said, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a lowered voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbed the stone steps to Transfiguration, and we Gryffindors headed in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were many open wooden crates at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently anxious to investigate more closely. As we came nearer, an odd rattling noise reached our ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at us. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this-Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" asked Ron. Hagrid pointed down into the crates. "Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backwards. In my opinion, 'eurgh' just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very strange places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small _phut_, it would be propelled forward several inches.

"On'y jus' hatched," Hagrid said proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we _want_ to raise them?" came a cold voice. The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Hagrid looked stumped at the question. "I mean, what do they _do_?" Malfoy asked. "What is the _point_ of them?" Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things-I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer-I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake-jus' try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," I muttered under my breath. Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made us pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I couldn't help but think that this entire thing was pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths. "Ouch!" Dean Thomas yelled after about ten minutes. "It got me!" Hagrid hurried over to him, looked worried. "Its end exploded!" Dean said angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand. "Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," Hagrid said, nodding. "Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing!?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," Hagrid said enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males...the females have got sorta sucker things on their bellies...I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," snapped Hermione. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?" We grinned at Hagrid, who gave us a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would've liked nothing better than a pet dragon-as we knew only too well-he'd owned one for a brief period during my first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures...the more lethal, the better.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," said Ron as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later. "They are _now_," Hermione said in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" I asked her, smirking at her. "You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up. As a matter of fact, I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all." We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that we stared at her. "Um-is this the new stand on elf rights?" I asked. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," Hermione said with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?!" Ron said in disbelief. "Hermione-it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!" Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she hadn't eaten in days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and ran off.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry, Ron, and I departed for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived. The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met our nostrils as soon as we emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. We walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and we sat down at the same small circular table. "Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind us, making us jump.

Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the same expression she always wore whenever she looked at him. "You are preoccupied, my dear. My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas...most difficult...I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass...and perhaps sooner than you think..." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. I rolled my eyes at Harry, who looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past us and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," Professor Trelawney said. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle..."

"Harry!" Ron muttered. "What?" Harry had drifted off briefly. He looked around; the rest of us were staring at him. He sat up straight; he'd almost been dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts. "I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," Professor Trelawney said, a faint touch of resentment in her voice at the fact that he'd obviously not been hanging onto her words. "Born under-what, sorry?" Harry asked.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" Professor Trelawney said, obviously irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth...Your dark hair...your mean stature...tragic losses so young in life...I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

"No," Harry said, "I was born in July." Ron quickly turned his laugh into a hacking cough. Half an hour later, each of us had been given a complicated circular chart, and we were trying to fill in the position of the planets at our moment of birth. It was slow work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles. "I've got two Neptunes here," Harry said after a while, frowning down at his chart, "that can't be right, can it?"

"Aaaah," Ron said, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry..." I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle of laughter at this, but I couldn't hide the squeal of excitement from Lavender Brown-"Oooh, Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

"It is Uranus, my dear," Professor Trelawney said, bending over Lavender's chart. "Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" Ron asked. Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard Ron, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give us so much homework at the end of class. "A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," Professor Trelawney snapped, sounding a lot more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in by Monday, and no excuses!"

"Miserable old bat," Ron said as we joined the crowds descending the staircases back down to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will..."

"Lots of homework?" Hermione asked us as she caught up with us. "Professor Vector didn't give _us_ any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," I said moodily. We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people lining up for dinner. We'd just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice shouted out from behind us. "Weasley! Hey, Weasley!" We turned around. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each of them looking thoroughly pleased about something. "What?" Ron said shortly. "Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" shouted Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the **_Daily Prophet_** and speaking very loudly, so that everybody in the crowded entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this!

**FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC:**

It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Malfoy looked up, smirking. "Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered. Everybody in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

"Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer _**Daily Prophet** _questions about why he had been in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene."

Malfoy smirked, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "And there's a picture, Weasley! A picture of your parents outside their house-if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?" Ron was shaking with rage. We all were staring at him. "Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry said. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh, yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter? So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the photo?"

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry said- he, Hermione, and I had seized Ron by the back of his robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy-"that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?" I couldn't help but laugh when Malfoy's face went slightly pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Harry said, turning away. BANG! Several people screamed-I saw something graze the side of Harry's face-he plunged his hand into his pocket for his wand, but before he'd even had the chance to touch it, we heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall. "OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

I whirled around to see Professor Moody limping down the staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been a moment ago. There was a terrified silence in the hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry-at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head. "Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly. "No," Harry said, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody suddenly shouted. "Leave-what?" I asked, confused. "Not you-him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. Apparently, Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, running towards the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" Moody roared, pointing his wand at the ferret again-it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," Moody growled as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never-do-that-again-" Moody said, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. "Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books. "Hello, Professor McGonagall," Moody said calmly, still bouncing the ferret higher.

"What-what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall asked, watching the ferret's progress through the air. "Teaching," said Moody. "Teach-Moody, _is that a student_!?" Professor McGonagall shrieked, the books tumbling out of her arms. "Yep," Moody said. "No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. Malfoy got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" Professor McGonagall said weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?!"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock-"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," Moody said, eyeing Malfoy with great dislike. Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, glared malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable. "Oh yeah?" Moody said quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull _clunk_ of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy...you tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son...you tell him that from me...now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," Malfoy said resentfully. "Another old friend," Moody growled. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape...Come on, you..." And he grabbed Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few minutes, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to us as we sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what'd just happened. "Why not?" Hermione asked in surprise. "Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," Ron said, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..."

Harry, Hermione, and I burst into laughter, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of our plates. "He could have really hurt Malfoy, though. It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it-"

"Hermione!" Ron said angrily, his eyes snapping open again. "You're ruining one of the best moments of my life!" Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again. "Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" I asked her.

"Got to," she said. "Loads to do."

"But you said Professor Vector-"

"It's not schoolwork," Hermione said. Within five minutes, she had cleaned her plate and departed. No sooner had Hermione left than her seat was taken by Fred. "Moody!" he said. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," George said, sitting down opposite his twin. "Supercool," said Lee Jordan, the twins' best friend, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told me, Harry, and Ron. "What was it like?" I asked. The twins and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. "Never had a lesson like it," Fred said.

"He _knows_, man," said Lee. "Knows what?" Ron asked, leaning forward. "Knows what it's like to be out there _doing_ it," George said. "Doing what?" Harry said. "Fighting the Dark Arts," said Fred. "He's seen it all," said George. "'Mazing," said Lee. Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him 'till Thursday!" Ron said in a disappointed voice.


End file.
